


Remember Me When I am Gone Away

by darkbrokenreaper



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27826255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkbrokenreaper/pseuds/darkbrokenreaper
Summary: Sometimes, the Soldier feels as though he is not alone in his mind. There is a presence there with summer blue eyes and a smile that looks so familiar as if in a dream.Steve Rogers saves Bucky Barnes through seventy years of Hydra brainwashing.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	Remember Me When I am Gone Away

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved this pairing after watching the Winter Soldier and I've written multiple fics for it but I've never posted anything because this is a HUGE fandom and it was highly intimidating. I decided to post this since it was complete and something small to dip my toes into the fandom.

Sometimes, the Soldier feels as though he is not alone in his mind.

He is an assassin, codenamed the Winter Soldier, and he is meant to be a weapon, nothing more nothing less. These are the two truths, the only two truths he knows. He is a tool meant to destroy the enemies of his creators, to topple nations, and bring down regime leaders. He is not meant to feel human emotions or to think for himself; only to do what he is told by his handlers. So it comes as a surprise to him when he begins to feel _it_.

The Soldier first feels the presence in his mind when he is on an assassination mission, starting slowly, so slow that the Soldier is not conscious of the being until it is firmly rooted in his mind. The entity probed at his thoughts with the curiosity of a newborn child and at the time; he had not paid any attention to it, intent on completing his objectives with quick and deadly precision.

Target eliminated, he makes his way back to the warehouse that would be the meeting point for the extraction team. Safely ensconced with the damp dusty place, he has a few hours to himself. Usually he passes this time in silence, going over any damage on the Weapon to be reported to his superiors. They care little about his flesh wounds but any harm to the Weapon is met with swift, brutal punishment. The Soldier hates punishment and has been conditioned to avoid it so he checks over every angle of the Weapon with a critical eye.

That is when he notices the presence poking tentatively at his mind, beginning to spread itself out like a cat stretching redolently in the sunlight. He is rightfully alarmed, having never felt such a thing before and quickly sends his own violent shove at the presence which results in a sense of confusion from the entity.

The Soldier knows he has caught the thing in his mind by surprise and does not wait to attack it with the full brunt of his conscious, violently burning out the presence.

And that’s when he hears it. Laughter, and not the derisive ones directed at him behind his back from the soldiers sent along with him on missions sometimes. It is joyous laughter, so clear and sweet, that it causes him to pause in his mental assault. A sense of calm washes through him which he is unfamiliar with and unsettles him greatly as much as it soothes his frayed nerves.

Curious, he jabs an experimental, almost half-hearted punch at the being which causes another round of giggling laughter.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” a voice with a funny (yet so _familiar_ ) accent drawls in the confines of his mind. He gets an impression of a gangly boy with an amused grin leaning against the brick wall of an alley way, all sharp jutting shoulders and thin angular face.

“Who are you?” he demands, stalking towards the boy in a show of intimidation but the being does not back down. If anything, the presence stands to attention, chin lifted up in defiance, daring him to do something.

“You don’t scare me,” the boy answers steadfastly.

“Then you clearly do not know what I am,” he counters, crowding into the boy’s space. The Weapon shoots out, catching the boy in the neck and pinning him to the brick wall. He does not squeeze but the threat is very much present. In spite of this the boy smiles, painfully gentle and warm.

“Actually,” the boy says, and all of a sudden he disappears, “I know you better than yourself.”

The Soldier wheels around, a gun in his hands aimed at the boy’s forehead.

“Is that so?” the Soldier comments calmly.

“Yeah,” he answers confidently. The boy grabs the barrel of the gun and it disintegrates, becoming a circular shield emblazoned with a bright white star, so different from the one stamped on The Weapon.

A pang shoots through the Soldier’s chest and he stares at the shield with recognition. He knows this shield, has felt its weight in his arms before but he can’t remember when or why. There is a void of nothing when he tries to remember and it scares him more than he would like to admit. The Soldier watches warily as the boy traces the white star on the shield with tender fingertips.

“You saved me once with this,” the boy says softly, summer eyes focused on the white star before training on him with an intensity that confuses the Soldier. “And I failed you and you died.”

What? The Soldier wants to ask but the door bursts open and his handlers swarm the room. The boy with the bright sunshine smile is shoved into a corner of his mind as he is escorted out of the room.

\--

That is all his is able to do before the mission is over and he is sent back to be wiped and stored back into his cryochamber like a toy in its box. For the first time, he is afraid to be wiped and he resists, screaming and thrashing like a madman until something sharp jabs him in the neck and his limbs become putty, heavy and leaden. The presence panics, shouts and screams and rages against this, until everything goes dark and silent and cold.

When he awakens again, mind a clean slate for the scientists to fill with a new mission, and sent on his way, he is shocked to feel the presence sitting up in his mind, stretching and fully aware. He is even more surprised that he can remember the boy. The presence rises up slowly and shakes itself off like a disgruntled kitten. The Soldier instantly feels a sense of calm settle over him, spreading through his limbs as the presence unfurls over his mind like a long lost friend.

“Well, that was highly unpleasant,” the voice comments and he sees the boy wrinkling his nose in distaste. The Soldier barks out a laugh which earns him odd, wary looks from his handlers. They also begin to finger their guns so he schools his face into a mask of impassivity as the boy snickers and pulls funny faces to get him to crack. He doesn’t but the ride is much more enjoyable for it.

The Soldier is nothing if not adaptable and he actually grows somewhat used to the being walking around his mindscape. In time, he even begins to crave its presence, always there in his mind during his missions, offering support and comfort and just _being there_. It is always there, the only constant when his mind is wiped and re-wiped in between missions. For some reason, he remembers nothing, not even his own name, but he always remembers the boy. He loses all sense of time and direction but the presence becomes his anchor, keeping him sane when he feels he has nothing else in this world.

He doesn’t tell his handlers. A part of him knows that this must be kept secret, his secret. The thought of having such a thing makes the Soldier feel… pleasure. The Soldier has nothing to call his own. His life and his body is the property of Hydra but this little part of him, this boy with summer blue eyes and a warm smile is his and his alone. The Soldier hoards him selfishly, tucking him away from the painful ugly parts of himself and only showing him the best parts, what little he has.

Little snatches of emotions he feels at times, pulses of protection and love, he gives unreservedly to the boy.

The boy calls him Yakov, Yasha if he is being overly fond. The Soldier can’t help but think that he used to be called something else, because the boy’s pink lips blur over his name whenever he says it. A dark part of him wonders if the boy knew him from “Before” and loved the other one.

\--

He is going to be punished and he is scared.

He sinks into the deepest parts of his mind with ease and the boy is waiting for him.

“Oh, Yasha,” the boy asks, compassion in his tone. “What have they done to you this time?”

“Make it stop,” he whispers back, digging his fingers into his head in agony. “Please, just make it stop.”

“Come here,” the boy opens his arms and he goes into the embrace, pulling the boy close to him, as close as possible until there is no space in between their bodies. “I’ll keep you safe, Yasha. When you hurt, I will be here waiting for you.”

He leads them into a bedroom where a sagging mattress and thin, scratchy sheets await them. It is the most comfortable thing that the Soldier has felt in a very long time. As the boy pulls his shirt over his head and strips every dangerous implement off of his body, the Soldier can feel the weight in his chest lessen until he feels like he will float away.

The boy draws up the covers around him and for a moment he believes that he will be left alone in this room, forgotten just like everything else in this space. But the boy merely makes reassuring shushing noises and strips down to his underthings. He slides into bed next to him, pulls him close, and tucks Bucky’s head under his chin.

The boy whispers nonsense words, rubs soothing circles into his back.

Outside, his body hurts and he screams out his pain. But inside, he is warm and safe.

\--

“What is your name?” The Soldier asks one day. The thought enters his mind all of sudden.

The boy smiles secretly but there is a proud gleam in his eyes as if he has been waiting for this question for forever but all he says is, “You know it.”

This doesn’t settle well with the Soldier.

“No, no I don’t. Tell me!” The Soldier demands.

“It’s right on the tip of your tongue,” the boy coaxes gently.

The boy shakes his head but then considers, coral pink lips pursed into a moue. “I’ll give you a hint.” He leans in close, as if imparting a secret that the Soldier absolutely must hear. The Soldier does not move as the boy’s lips near the shell of his ear and whispers, “Starts with an ‘S’.”

No, he is tired of playing games. He does not want to fight anymore. He’s so very tired of fighting.

He is desperate. “TELL ME!”

The boy shakes his head and his smile becomes softer, beautiful. “You know my name. Just gotta try a little harder, Yasha.”

Just like the other times before, the boy’s lips blur over the name but the Soldier cannot take it anymore. He is blind with anger.

When he looks up again, the scene has changed. In the boy’s hands are a sketchpad and charcoal pencils. That face has a dark smudge on the side of his sharp cheekbone and his pink tongue is poking out from between plush lips as he concentrates on his drawing. He’s sitting in a chair facing a large window and his hand flies over the paper in arcs and swirls, capturing the brown stone buildings outside in vivid detail. The Soldier’s eyes widen. He knows this place, has seen this particular room with this particular scene a hundred times.

He reaches out for the boy but his shoulder is jerked back by an invisible force. The apartment fades like a mirage and he is back in his cryochamber.

The Soldier is being put back into stasis. Frost crawls along the sides and covers the viewing window. He closes his eyes….

_The cold creeps slowly through his veins, stealing the very breath from his lungs but for once he’s not afraid._

… And dreams about a boy named Steve.

\--

Sometimes, he finds Steve in the apartment, always working on the same thing.

“What are you playing with, detka?” he asks kindly, crouching next to Steve who is sprawled on a floor covered in a permanent layer of dust.

“Jigsaw,” he murmurs, engrossed in his task. There are various pieces scattered around them and in front of Steve is the border of the puzzle. A hint of a shoulder, the tips of an ear; it is a person, the Soldier deduces. Beyond that, the picture is incomprehensible.

Every so often, Steve picks up a piece, examining it from every angle and trying to figure out where it should go. The Soldier cannot make out what is on the piece; it is a blur but Steve seems to know and tries to fit the piece into its place. Sometimes a piece clicks and he can feel Steve’s satisfaction along with something else settle into place. Most of the time though, the piece morphs as soon as it is set down into the puzzle, rendering it useless. Even worse, sometimes the pieces disappear from the puzzle, blinking out of existence as if they never were. The Soldier expects Steve to scream in frustration or to throw a fit when this happens but the boy does no such thing. Instead, he returns the piece to the pile and fishes out a new one, a look of intense patience and concentration on his features as he starts the process anew.

“Who is it?” he questions when Steve looks like he is making no progress.

“Someone important,” he answers.

“Is it the man in blue?” the Soldier asks. Steve shakes his head.

\--

“You’re Steve Rogers,” the Soldier says, kneeling next to the boy in the dusty apartment, their dusty apartment.

“Took you long enough,” Steve grins and before he can ask any more questions, Steve motions at the scattered puzzle pieces on the ground. “Wanna help me with this puzzle?”

This is the first time Steve has asked him to help and the Soldier acquiesces.

To his surprise, the puzzle comes together as if it wants to be completed. Instinctively, he knows what piece goes where and they fall into place with a speed that has Steve humming in praise. Before long, the whole puzzle is complete and the Soldier feels… whole. It’s a picture of a man with a cocksure grin and sparkling eyes. He knows this face, has seen this face in glimpses and glances in shop windows and hotel mirrors.

“This is… me,” the Soldier murmurs, touching the face depicted in the puzzle with clicking metal fingers. He immediately pulls back.

“Of course it’s you,” Steve snorts as if he asked a silly question. “It’s always been you.”

“Bucky,” he repeats, testing out the words on his tongue. “I’m Bucky.”

And before he knows it, he’s being held tenderly in the boy’s arms… except, he’s not a boy anymore. It’s the man in blue, it’s Steve Rogers. His Stevie.

He is surprised to find himself crying. 

\--

In the future, the far off future that they have always dreamed about, Bucky saves Steve from the Potomac and Steve saves Bucky from himself.

Once they have a moment together, somewhere safe and quiet and just the two of them, Steve whispers an apology into his skin.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone, Bucky,” Steve says with the regret of seventy years weighing down his words. “I’m sorry for not finding you faster.”

But Bucky shakes his head and pulls Steve closer until they’re a breath apart.

“You were always here with me, Steve,” Bucky smiles, tapping a finger to his temple. “Right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Love it? Leave a kudos and a comment!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://isaaccadrian.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/i8chen) to chat about anything under the sun!


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